


Dear Old Dad

by Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer



Series: Renegades (Steven Universe: Homeworld AU) [11]
Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family Bonding, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Homeworld au, I Am My Mom Gone Wrong, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Memory Loss, Light Angst, Memory Loss, Music, Nostalgia, Past Brainwashing, Past Character Death, Past Kidnapping, Past Torture, Renegades Steven Universe AU, Sad with a Happy Ending, Singing, Steven Universe Has PTSD - Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Steven Universe Homeworld AU, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28336533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer/pseuds/Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer
Summary: "It's your-" Greg stumbles over the words, and Steven's heart pounds in his ears as he drops his gaze back to the instrument. He knows, he knows what it is, he knows exactly what it is, it's his. For the life of him, he can't remember what it's called, it's on the tip of his tongue- "your ukulele-"| Post-IARQ (I Am Rose Quartz.)
Relationships: Greg Universe & Steven Universe
Series: Renegades (Steven Universe: Homeworld AU) [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918204
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36





	Dear Old Dad

It starts so simple. A soft tune. A hum. A melody.

Steven hears the music in everything, in the wind, the squeak of the door opening, the creaking of floorboards as he walks. He hears drum beats in closing cabinets, in the sound of his heart. He hears something deep in his gem; sometimes it's a soft hum. Sometimes it's a loud, buzzing tune. Sometimes it's like windchimes, like bells and maracas. And other times it's an indescribable sound, like a hum but not quite, not really. It's louder, it's different. It reverberates through his gem, through his body. It makes his blood sing, his heart soar, his stomach twirl. He can't put a name to the sound, to the music. He doesn't know what he's hearing, just that it's there. That it exists, deep inside him, something unshakeable, something that he can't ignore.

He doesn't remember, however, until one day when he decides to ride with his father up to the car wash. He's been in the van plenty of times - in the front seat, at least. But when they reach their destination, and Greg wanders off to do something, Steven hops out of the van and circles around to open the back doors, curious as to what lies inside. The back of the van is a mess - Steven smiles to himself for a moment as he remembers that that's not an unusual thing at all. He climbs inside slowly, savoring the memories. The entire van smells like his father, though it also smells like pizza and… wood. Wood chips? He's not sure what it is, but it's warm, soothing.

The hybrid sits back, sinking against the side of the van and sweeping his gaze around again. Scratched, old CDs and opened CD cases litter the floor, along with a few discarded t-shirts. His eyes fall onto a box, however, a large box taped shut that sits just behind the driver seat.

His own name is scrawled on the side.

Curiosity churns in his chest, a sticky feeling he can't quite suppress. He curls his fingers into fists against the floor of the van, but remains where he is; he'll ask about it when Greg returns.

It's not long until he hears Greg calling out for him, but his father doesn't take long to realize the van doors are open, because he appears before Steven can call back to tell him where he is. The hybrid only offers the man a small smile while Greg climbs into the back of the van with him, looking curious and somewhat relieved. "Hey, sorry, kiddo, I didn't mean to take so long. Took me a second to find my good hose." Greg pauses, suddenly, eyes straying toward the box. Steven follows his gaze briefly, taking note of the way his father seems to tense at the sight of it.

"It's okay." He has a feeling he knows the answer before he asks the question. "... what's that?"

Greg hesitates, doesn't respond for a moment. He shifts where he sits for a while, just staring at the box, and Steven slowly brings his gaze back to the man when he doesn't receive an answer. Greg catches his gaze, just for a second; his eyes glisten, misting with tears Steven was honestly startled to see, but before he can shuffle forward to hug his father, to comfort him, the man is suddenly moving. Steven watches him as he makes his way over to the box, hands hovering over it for a few moments before he grabs it and turns back to the hybrid again. He places it down, hesitantly, in between them, and Steven gazes at it. "It's, ah… it's your things."

"My…" Steven continues to stare for a moment, wide eyes flickering wildly as he imagines the contents of the box in front of him, thinks about what could be in it, packed and sealed away. Greg ducks his head, and Steven looks up in time to see the shame that flits across his face.

"When we thought you were," he starts, and stops. "... I couldn't…"

The realization settles in heavily, like a weighted blanket across his shoulders. "Oh…" His mouth feels sticky, like he just bit into a donut, but there's no sweetness, no sugar, no flavor. If anything, the taste in his mouth is somewhat bitter, and despite his aversion to the sweets, he'd have taken a donut over whatever this was any day. His brown eyes fall back to the box again, widening even further. Guilt churns in his chest, guilt and confusion and pain for the man in front of him, his father, who had thought he was dead. His father, who had had to go through the heart-wrenching process of packing Steven's things away himself. He can imagine the anguish the man must have felt, tucking his only son's belongings into a box, the son he believed to be dead. He can imagine it, the loss, the grief. He feels that grief weighing on him every day now. Perhaps it's not the same, losing a son and losing a friend. But he feels such profound pain, such agony over Lapis, that he can't really imagine anything else to be much stronger than that.

He's silent, they both are, lost and trapped in their own grief. Greg's, he knows, must be little more than a memory now, but his is still fresh, because the one he's grieving for is really gone. It doesn't erase the pain his father had gone through, doesn't even begin making it better, but at least Greg got him back. _But,_ his brain chides, reminding him, _there's one person he didn't…_

He wraps an arm around himself, secure and tight above his gem. He jolts a little when Greg suddenly pushes the box toward him, but his alarm is stamped out almost at once with surprise. He reaches out a little as he looks up at his father; the grief on his face, the sorrow, sadness, has fizzled out into something a little softer, a little warmer, a little brighter. Perhaps realizing the same thing as Steven, that his grief is nothing more than a memory now, that he's right _here_. That he's alive. That he was never lost to him at all. Steven doesn't smile, doesn't think he has it in him to be able to do so right now. But he offers Greg the softest look he can muster before he turns his attention back to the box in front of him, dragging it a little closer and inhaling slowly.

"It's not everything," Greg begins, launching into an explanation Steven doesn't really need. He understands - stars, he understands. But he lets his father ramble on. "It's just some little things that were lying around here and there. I just…" He stops again, swallowing. "Couldn't… y'know." He does know. The hybrid nods slightly, slowly, and runs the finger along the top of the box, tracing the line of tape stretched across, sealing it shut. Then, carefully, he starts peeling it off. He's quick about it, but cautious not to damage the box, or whatever might rest inside of it.

Nostalgia hits him like a blow to the gut when he peers inside.

The first thing he sees, on the top, is a purple stuffed bear with sunglasses and a golden necklace with the letters 'MC'. Despite himself, the hybrid can't bite back a startled gasp.

"MC Bear Bear!" He pulls the bear out immediately and sits back, delighted. "I remember you…" He gazes at the toy for a moment, curiously reaching down and pulling the necklace up a little to see it better, then looks up at his father. Greg simply smiles, shuffling a little closer to him now. "Pearl got him for me after…" He stops for a second, clutching the bear a little tighter. She had stabbed the first one - he remembers it, vividly - a pale purple bear with some kind of symbol on its stomach. He remembers clutching something tightly when it had happened, a… a mirror. A mirror with a… a familiar… blue gem… glued in place on the back of it. A Lapis Lazuli gem. The hybrid stares down for a moment, wide eyes fixed on the bear, while Greg reaches into the box. The memory is fresh in his mind, despite being so long ago. He remembers when he met her…

 _("I am Lapis Lazuli, and you can't keep me trapped here_ _**anymore** _ _!")_

He stares until Greg pulls something else out, a handful of small, circular, clear containers. It doesn't take Steven long at all to recognize these; he'd seen plenty of them in Onion's room. "My Guys," he recalls, gazing at the toys for a moment. His excitement had wavered, but not vanished quite yet. Lapis' memory hangs over him like… like a stormcloud, a constant downpour of rain and thunder and lightning, and pain, and grief, and anxiety. He wishes it wasn't like that, wishes that remembering her, someone he _loved_ , didn't make him upset. Didn't _hurt._

Greg seems to notice the shift in his demeanor, because it doesn't take long for him to set the toys down and turn his full attention back to the hybrid, concerned. "Hey, you alright, buddy?"

"Yeah…" Steven trails off for a moment, looking back down at the bear. His fingers curl around it tightly, tight enough that his knuckles turn white. It folds a little as he does, the top half of the bear drooping down toward his hands, and he releases it only to straighten it up again. "I just… Pearl got this for me to replace my original MC Bear Bear because she stabbed it with her spear. It was the same night I freed Lapis from the mirror." His eyes sting, tearing up reflexively. He doesn't lift either of his hands away from the bear, blinking a few times to clear them away. It's such a simple thing. Part of him feels stupid, but the rest of him just aches, just misses her. With every fiber of his being, with every facet in his gem, he _misses_ her. The hybrid takes a breath, ducking his head and pressing his mouth against the top of the stuffed bear's head.

Greg hesitates slightly, moving the box aside to shuffle closer. Steven doesn't resist when his father pulls him into his arms, leaning against the man slightly and accepting the hug although he doesn't move his arms away from MC Bear Bear to return it. "I'm… I'm so sorry, Steven…"

"I just miss her," Steven mumbles. His voice wavers, throat tightening as the rising lump attempts to push more tears to his eyes. He blinks them back just as well, but he can't stop a few from escaping anyway. For a moment he just wants to sit there, sit there and wallow, drown in the grief he's feeling, but he knows he can't do that. If he lets it consume him, it'll _eat_ at him. It'll tear him apart piece by piece. It'll destroy him - perhaps worse than it had to start with. Of course, he's no better off keeping his emotions locked in a box, sealed away and unopened… but he hates the grief that clouds his memories of her, he hates the constant cycle of sadness.

He hates that her memory haunts him. She was his _friend_.

He presses the bear closer to him, tighter against his face, closer to his mouth, hoping it'll muffle any sobs that threaten to escape, but none come. He just sits there, silent tears slipping one by one while Greg tugs him closer and reaches up to rub them away, soft fingers brushing against his cheek. He feels his father's thumb trace the scar briefly before it returns to wiping away the tears, and, exhausted, he lets his head drop against the man's shoulder as Greg speaks again. "I know, kiddo… god, trust me, I know. I know you miss her. I'm so sorry you have to…" He stops, _breathes_ ; Steven can feel his body shudder. "I'm so sorry you have to go through all this."

Steven shakes his head, leans his head back. He doesn't want to say it's okay, because he knows it isn't, because every part of him _hurts_ over this. For a moment, he wants to forget…

… but then, that's his whole problem, isn't it? That's how he destroyed himself.

_(How she destroyed him.)_

Instead, he sucks in a breath, the air shuddering between his teeth, and pulls away. He rips the bear away from his own chest and tosses it to the floor beside the box, then reaches out with shaking fingers to pull the box a little closer to continue looking through it. Greg stays silent, but Steven can feel him hovering beside him now, and instead of feeling annoyed or guilty or ashamed by his father's watchful, intent, concerned gaze, Steven just feels… oddly relieved. Relieved that he's there, because right now, Steven thinks he's the only thing that's keeping him from breaking down completely in that moment. The grief is too strong, like a magnet tugging him forward with each passing second, like ocean waves crashing over him, dragging him down, washing him away. He's felt that before, but he'll be damned if he lets it consume him.

Instead, they go through the box together. The mood lightens a little as Greg pulls out an old photo album, and they flip through pictures of when Steven was younger. His father ends up smiling and chuckling as he points out the various photos, and the hybrid even manages to smile a few times despite himself, but about halfway through, he feels another kind of grief. Not nearly as strong as what he feels for Lapis, and it's more akin to nostalgia, to longing, but it's still there.

He grieves for the boy in the photos, the younger him, the innocent, carefree hybrid who just wanted to help people. He still wants to help people, but he's less optimistic about the fact that he even _can_ (especially when he's so damaged now, so broken, so in need of help himself).

Greg pulls out more items. Old shirts, toys, more stuffed bears and action figures. At one point, he pulls out Steven's old Lonely Blade figurine and Steven can't help but laugh as he takes it. He doesn't even like the show anymore; he tried to watch it a few times with Amethyst and Berry, but he found himself unable to stand it. It was nothing like actual sword fighting, which was something he and Berry both complained about every few minutes. _("They're not even holding the weapons right." "The shards is a boomerang blade? He's going to kill himself.")_

He's not a fan, but he smiles at the figurine, runs his finger along the length of the tiny plastic sword, and puts it in his lap to bring home later. Berry would get a kick out of it, he's certain.

And then, finally, Greg pulls out an old wooden, stringed object and Steven stares at it for a moment. He recognizes it, but he doesn't know what the name of it is, what it's called. It's colorful, gorgeous; the colors, mostly different shades of yellow, and some pink thrown in, are so warm and comforting and Steven's chest stills as his breathing catches, slowing to a full stop. Greg doesn't notice at first, looking at the object with the same kind of silent, amazed shock. His fingers come up to run over the strings, but the thing doesn't make a sound. Then, finally, Greg looks up at Steven, and Steven looks up at Greg, and they just stare at each other for a second. Steven doesn't know what to say, where to begin, and his father seems just as dumbstruck.

"It's your-" Greg stumbles over the words, and Steven's heart pounds in his ears as he drops his gaze back to the instrument. He knows, he knows what it is, he knows exactly what it is, it's _his_. For the life of him, he can't remember what it's called, it's on the tip of his tongue- "your ukulele-"

_That!_

Steven breathes in sharply and reaches out. Not a word, not a sound.

(Everything feels right with the world once it's in his hands. He holds it close, and though it's a little small for his grip now, he's as steady as ever. His fingers fall into place with practiced ease, muscle memory from each time he's played it. He remembers soft music, soft melodies, _songs._ He remembers singing, singing just 'cause he can, just 'cause he loves music, 'cause of _life._ )

His stomach flips, a nauseating kind of excitement. He strums his fingers slowly, gently, across the strings, almost timidly. The sound it makes in response to his touch makes his heart stutter.

_(It sounds like a breeze against his face, sand under his toes, water against his skin.)_

He strums again, lost, numb and blind and deaf to the world for a moment. Everything but this.

_(It sounds like laughter, ice cream, donuts with sprinkles and love and life.)_

Again.

_(It sounds like life and death and love and birth and…)_

He stops just for a moment, just to hold it in his hands, just to feel it against his skin for a moment. He swallows, licks his lips and breathes. His gaze flicks up, just for a moment, to rest on his father. Greg is just watching him, wide-eyed and silent. He can practically see the stars in the man's eyes, the smile on his face, however small and subtle it might have been. It's there. It's warm. It's happy. And it makes Steven want to sing. It makes him want to sing his heart out.

He stares, as if asking for permission. Greg stares back, as if granting it.

Steven knows exactly what that moment calls for.

The hybrid looks down, cautious in his movements as he starts playing. The melody starts off a little slow, a little shaky at first, uncertain. But his fingers fall into place on their own accord as he gets into it, and he allows his hands to guide him through the music as he did when he was little. It's a little softer, he notes, than it used to be. The song, the music, the tune. Still, he plays it, and Greg shifts a little, and Steven knows he recognizes it. He doesn't look up, doesn't need to. He does tug his lips into a smile, hopes his father sees it, then inhales deeply and plunges in.

"Dear old Dad,  
Remember when you would sing to me?  
We could do it again

Dear old Dad,  
Remember how I would sit on your shoulders?  
Well, how 'bout it now?"

He's delighted, honestly, but how smooth his voice is, how soft, how much deeper he sounds. No more cracks, no more wavers. The words flow freely, gently. He pushes on a little more.

"Dear old Dad,  
I was wondering why, as I get older now  
The days keep going on by

Dear old Dad,  
Remember this, too  
In this whole, wide world  
There's no one like you…" He stops, breathes, and goes on.

"There's no one like you…"

Greg moves closer. Steven keeps playing as his father reaches behind him, shifting a little bit so he can reach for what the hybrid _knows_ he's reaching for. He can't help but smile, finally risking a glance up as his fingers keep moving, working over the ukulele, while Greg settles his own guitar in his lap and starts to play along. Steven keeps playing, even as his father falls into tune with him, as Greg finally lets out a low, satisfied hum, and lifts his gaze from the instrument.

"My darling son," he begins, and Steven's smile widens.

"I remember when I would sing to you  
And I would do it again

Beloved child,  
Remember this, too  
In this world of gems, there's no one like you…"

Steven grins, chuckles, and joins in.

"You…"

_(He's eight years old. Garnet, Amethyst and Pearl welcome him with open arms as he takes his first steps into his new house, wide eyes taking in everything in sight. He doesn't let his stuff go, clutching it close even as his father offers to take it upstairs for him. He doesn't want to just yet; he wants to savor the moment, wants it to feel like his first time here for as long as he can.)_

"You…"

_(He's six years old, living in his father's van. They sing, and joke, and laugh. Greg takes care of him, holds him close at night, comforts him after nightmares and sings him lullabies every night.)_

"You…"

_(He's eight years old, lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. He misses his dad.)_

It's painful, really, the memories that resurface. But not painful enough to make him shy away. As much as they hurt, the memories are good… _so_ good. He misses the simpler times, when it had just been him and Greg. But he also wouldn't trade his time with the gems for anything. He loves them all, loves every minute of every day he gets to spend with them, and appreciates every second he'd been able to spend with them in the past. He'd give anything to go back and live it all again, but when it comes down to it, he can't say he'd want anything to be different. (Okay, maybe a few things, a few recent things - but as for back then? A part of him does wonder if changing anything back then would change something now, but it doesn't matter.)

The past is past, nothing but memories to replay over and over again, nothing to do but reminisce about how it used to be, nothing to feel but nostalgia, and pain, and longing.

He holds the ukulele tightly for a moment, staring at it.

(All memories hurt, he realizes, not just the ones colored grey in grief and misery.)

The hybrid smiles a little, tentatively, while Greg laughs and leans forward, hunching over the guitar a little. He looks up to catch his father's grin, wide, sparkling eyes staring back at him. "We haven't done that in a long time. It's nice to see you haven't lost your musical touch."

"Moi? Never," Steven teases back. "Hel- _lo_ , I'm a _Universe_."

Greg laughs. There's so much warmth, love and excitement and joy and relief rolled into one simple sound that Steven can't help but laugh a little himself, despite the ache in his chest.

"But," he begins after a moment, "I'll bet I've still got some things to relearn."

"Oh yeah?" Greg grins at him, then looks down to pluck at the strings on his guitar.

Steven hums in response, smiling as he looks down a little, himself, but only to adjust one of the knobs on the ukulele. He tests the strings out again, waiting a few seconds. It's tuned for the most part, but it's clear that his poor baby has been severely neglected for the eight months he'd been gone, and that simply won't do. He'll have to play pretty often now to make up for it - which doesn't really sound like such a bad thing, now that he's getting into music again.

(It's so simple. A soft tune. A hum. A melody.)

He strums each string, slowly, gently, and grins at the sound it makes.

_(It sounds like home.)_


End file.
